Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

She liked to act surprised, but she knew exactly what was in that box. It had become our tradition as was with my own parents. I’d given her the same gift for two years now. Still, she feigned a delighted gasp and tucked her finger under the tape, savoring the anticipatory thrill of opening a gift.

The year bulb was similar to the two previous ones. She was so in love with the blown glass and hand-painted design of the ornament I gave her the night of the gala, I made it a point to match the same aesthetic. She’d be happy with cardboard—that was the way she was—but her reaction to the glass bulb was guaranteed to ignite a special kind of gratitude. I’ll admit—I was unabashedly selfish.

“What on earth?” Beth freed the round ornament from its little silk bed and turned it in her hand to examine it on all sides. I could tell by her genuine surprise, I had outdone myself this year.

“Why is there an Oscar on our year bulb?” She winced.

“A little prediction for the year,” I replied with a big grin.

She wasn’t grinning.

“You don’t like it?” I couldn’t believe she didn’t like it. Did that mean she wouldn’t reciprocate with my special gift?

She leveled her eyes to mine and relinquished a playful smirk.

“Which one of us will win an Oscar next year?” she said.

Now she was just fishing. We both knew she was the Oscar contender in the family. I’d done some projects I was proud of, but she had already been nominated for a Golden Globe.

“Everybody knows the Globes are a predictor of the Oscars,” I said. “And if you don’t win, they’re all idiots.”

“You know that’s not how it works,” she objected. “But thank you for your faith. And thank you for the gift. It’s beautiful.”

She kissed me tenderly—her warm, soft lips tasting of peppermint from the candy cane she liked to dip in her hot cocoa.

“Are you ready for your present?” she coaxed.

“Mmmm, Mrs. Darcy,” I growled. “I can barely wait another minute.”

Slipping the box from her fingers, I set her gift on the coffee table and adjusted myself on the sofa for a more intimate position with my wife. I took my time to toss each of her shoes to the floor, dotting hungry kisses along her neck. I would never tire of loving my wife in every expression of it. Loving my wife bathed in the warm glow of Christmas lights serenaded by soft instrumental carols was an exceptional enjoyment.

“Ummm…” I groaned at something furry supplanting my position. “Lady has to go.”

Beth laughed and scratched Lady behind the ear. “She’s fine where she is.”

She scooted a little closer to the arm of the couch and resolutely placed her legs on my lap. Then she reached behind the overly large throw pillow she was leaning on and retrieved a square box wrapped in silver paper.

“What’s this?” I asked, bewildered.

“Your present.”

“You are my present,” I protested.

She had already spoiled me beyond reason. She’d gotten me so many gifts, I’d lost count. She insisted on celebrating the twelve days of Christmas as well as Hanukkah. Practically every day in December I found something in my shoe or on my breakfast plate. Most of the gifts were practical things I didn’t buy often enough for myself. Things like socks and razors and dental floss. But the one big gift she’d given me was the most thoughtful and beautiful present imaginable. She commissioned a painting of my parents from samples of different photographs. It was an uncanny likeness and a brilliant work of art.

But what could be in that square box, I couldn’t guess. Maybe it was that watch I’d been looking at—the one made of reclaimed whisky barrels. Or maybe it was the pair of TARDIS cufflinks I saw online.

I ripped the paper, and as was our tradition, crumbled it in a ball and playfully threw it at her.

She scrunched her adorable nose and grinned expectantly. She loved giving gifts. Especially Christmas gifts. She always said her favorite part was watching the expression of the person opening something she thoughtfully and carefully picked out. The way she bounced her legs on my lap, I could tell this was something she was particularly excited about.

It was a midnight-blue, hinged box with a small, gold latch. I flipped it open, watching her watch me. It seemed this part of the experience was mutually entertaining. What I saw in the box, however, perplexed me. It was a year bulb similar to the one I'd gifted her, but the hand-painted number was a year ahead. Was she trying to beat me to it for next Christmas? Or did the artist make a mistake?

Beth didn't seem fazed by my confused expression. She smiled mischievously and continued to stroke Lady like an adorable Dr. Evil.

“Turn it over.”

With curiosity bubbling at the surface, I obeyed, carefully taking the ornament out of its case. I cradled it in my palm, appreciating the fine artisan details. It was a brushed gold with burgundy accents and lettering. Gorgeous, really. But as I examined it more closely, I noticed the embellishments weren’t the usual holiday designs. And the three words in a script font were definitely not what I expected. In fact, I was in such a state of surprise, I forgot to breathe.

Baby's first Christmas.

I couldn't tell if I was having an outer-body experience or if my heart stopped completely. All I remember was Beth shaking me until I came to.

“Will?” she said, poking me. “Are you okay?”

No. There was a good chance I was dead.

My eyes glazed over, and I stared at my wife wide eyed and speechless. When I did finally gain my ability to speak, I could only stutter.

“Is this your way of telling me you… wa-want to try?”

She shook her head. “No, William.”

She usually reserved William for when she was serious. Also when she was amorous. At this point, it could be both.

“Then…”